Page 184 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
“Maybe,” I muse. “Flights would be expensive, though.”
“I would pay for your flights.” He no doubt knows I’m about to protest, because he says, “It can be your Christmas present.”
“I’ll think about it,” I reply, rolling over onto my back. “Roe is so excited to see you for her birthday.”
“I’ve missed her so much,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the sadness in his tone. “This has been hard.”
Despite FaceTiming as much as possible, I know it’s not the same for him or her.
“It’s already November. It won’t be much longer.”
And even though he can only be here for a few days, I know it’ll help both of them.
“I need to get to set,” he says. “And you probably need your sleep.”
“I do,” I reply, but neither of us makes any move to hang up. I find myself smiling. It reminds me of our early days of dating and staying up late to text or talk on the phone and how giddy I felt.
“Are you going to hang up?”
“No,” I tease.
“Don’t make me be the one to hang up first,” he groans.
“Are we really doing this right now?” I laugh.
“Yeah, I guess we are,” he chuckles. “I’ll be the bad guy and hang up. Sleep tight, Low.”
“Night,” I reply. “Or I guess good morning.”
He chuckles. “Talk to you later.”
And then the line clicks off.
I’m exhausted enough that I should fall right to sleep, but instead I find myself thinking about what it’s going to be like to see him again, and I can’t seem to get rid of my giddy smile.
My heartbeat picks up when I spot Spencer standing outside of Arrivals. He’s decked out the same way as he left—sunglasses, baseball cap, and hoodie pulled up.
I pull over in front of him and he quickly hops in, sliding the belt across his body.
“Sorry. I’m pretty sure those girls suspected who I am.” He nods to a group of teenagers waiting for a car. “I didn’t want it to turn into chaos out there.”
“That’s fine,” I say, pulling away from the curb and following the signs out of LAX. “How was your trip?”
“Shockingly, incident free. Usually, I have some sort of hiccup, but everything went smooth. You must be my good luck charm.” He gives me wry smile.
“Me? Good luck? Doubtful.”
“We’ll agree to disagree on that one,” he says, tossing his backpack into the backseat so he has more leg room. “I was hoping Monroe would be with you.”
“She’s at school,” I remind him.
“But can’t she play hooky?”
“Nice try.” I side eye him. “You’re as bad as her.”
We ride in silence for a few minutes.
“You haven’t said it yet, you know,” he muses as I drive down the highway.
